The Trial
by daydreamer1227
Summary: What if Marietta told Umbridge about the D.A. just a little bit sooner, and the SNEAK label only encouraged her to keep talking. Harry Potter is arrested for treason, and a trial that could end with him in Azkaban is underway. The Ministry is relentless in their attacks, utilizing both veritiserum and a pensieve to uncover the truth.
1. Prologue

Harry laid in his bed at Grimmauld Place, staring at the wall. Everyone else had long since gone to bed. Despite everything that had happened recently, or perhaps because of it, he wasn't sure, Harry found himself unable to sleep. He kept reminding himself that Mr. Weasley was all right. Alive. Healing. Christmas would be over in– Harry checked the clock on the wall that was faintly lit by rays of the moon peeking through the window– roughly five minutes.

Harry couldn't sleep. After everything, he was exhausted, and he couldn't sleep.

Ron obviously had no problem with it, if those thunderous snores were anything to go by, but that was all well and good. Ron hadn't been sleeping well ever since the attack on Mr. Weasley. Maybe even before that. Harry was sure that his nightmares had kept Ron up on more than one occasion. He wondered how many restless nights he'd been the cause of for his friends.

Harry glanced at the clock again. Two minutes left of Christmas.

Harry thought then of Sirius, and wondered if the man ever got any sleep at all. Harry could never sleep after he came into contact with dementors. He would feel the lingering effects for days. Lingering dark thoughts. Nightmares. A weariness that was rooted in his bones. He could only imagine the effects after twelve years of constant exposure. Harry wondered if Sirius ever had dreams at all, anymore.

Harry shifted and the bed creaked. He stilled instantly, dreading depriving Ron of his well deserved rest more than was probably rational, as Ron could be likened to a dead horse when asleep, but his best friend slept on.

Harry relaxed and continued his examination of the wall. He glanced at the clock. Christmas was over. He closed his eyes wearily–

There were a series of pops from outside– the unmistakable sound of people apparating– and Harry was on his feet with his wand in his hand before it had even registered. The first thought that popped into his head was that no one could know Grimmauld Place was even there unless told by the secret keeper himself, so whoever was apparating onto this muggle street was more than likely trusted by Dumbledore.

But this feeling– this instinct of danger rising inside of him that had him tightening his grip on his wand and unceremoniously shoving Ron awake before hurrying to the window– had kept him alive for over four years.

"Blimey," cried Ron, snorting awaking. Sensing his urgency, Ron was by his side in seconds, peering cautiously out the window into the darkness that the moon's gaze no longer penetrated. And Harry knew suddenly that his instinct had been right, because a heavy chill that could only be instilled by one creature infiltrated his bones.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, and Harry knew that Ron felt it too, and recognized the implications.

There were thunderous footsteps on the stairs outside their room, and Harry would bet his Firebolt that the only other being in the house that would so quickly react to the cruel sensation of dementors was one who was still haunted by them in the dark recesses of their mind.

Harry gazed into the dark frantically because there were only two reasons that dementors would be there. Either for himself, sent by whoever sent them to Little Whinging that summer, or they were there for Sirius.

"Harry!" cried Ron when Harry was no longer at his side. Harry snatched his invisibility cloak with urgent hands and vaulted out the door.

Sirius nearly knocked the both of them down the stairs as they collided. "Harry, what?" Sirius was pale. Paler than Harry had ever seen him.

Harry held out his cloak. "Put this on."

Sirius stared, the shadows on his face pronounced his still gaunt features, even after over two years. "I– Cloaks won't stop dementors, Harry."

Harry could hear more footsteps– and there were Fred and George. Harry could hear the rest of the Weasleys on their way.

"No, no you can't be seen," argued Harry, still holding the cloak out in front of him, a slight panic at the thought of Sirius being taken filling him.

"Harry," said Sirius, "If anyone should be under this, it should be you–"

Harry thought of Ron and Hermione, and how they still hadn't quite gotten the hang of casting a patronus, even without the presence of dementors, and felt his sense of urgency rise.

"No, Sirius," he said, "It's not– It's not Voldemort, I'd be able to feel it, so the next logical conclusion would be–"

"The Ministry."

Harry jumped and spun around to see Remus Lupin, who seemed to have materialized from nowhere. He had forgotten Remus' room was downstairs.

"Harry's right," added Lupin.

"Remus," said Sirius, clearly intending to make him see reason where Harry could not.

"If that's Fudge," said Lupin slowly, "You can't be seen."

"And if it's not?" spat Sirius. "What if it's the same people who attacked Harry over the summer?"

The two stared at each other for a second, sparks flaring in Sirius' eyes and cold resolve in Lupin's. Harry looked up the stairs to see Hermione, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley making their way downstairs, wands out–

When there was a knock at the door.

"Well, that settles it, then," said Harry, "They're not Death Eaters."

Sirius sent him a look, and Harry wondered what he'd said wrong.

"Put on the cloak, Sirius," hissed Lupin, and Sirius finally acquiesced.

Lupin had begun making his way downstairs, when there was an angry voice that Harry recognized from outside.

"Open up, by order of the Ministry. If you do not comply, we will use force. You can no longer apparate from this location. Your floo network has been shut down. You have ten seconds."

"It's Fudge," whispered Harry looking to where he had last seen Sirius. "He can't know you're here, so be quiet and stay under the cloak."

Harry and Ron made their way down the rest of the stairs, and Hermione was quickly at their side.

Lupin approached the door cautiously. "How can I be sure you are who you say you are?"

Fudge spluttered through the door, "Who else would we be, you deluded man? And I won't hear any of this nonsense about You-Know-Who!"

Harry raised his brow. "Well, that's definitely him."

Ron elbowed him and sent him a look. Harry wondered why people kept looking at him like that.

Lupin was not satisfied. "I'm afraid I cannot grant you entrance unless you–"

"Time's up."

The door exploded backward, narrowly missing Lupin and crashing to the floor across the room. In poured men and women in the robes of Aurors, and Harry took a step back. He could still feel the dementors outside. The Ministry was there for a reason, and a big one at that. All Harry could think of was of Sirius– If they knew Sirius was _there_ –

Then the Aurors were upon him, and Ron and Hermione gone.

"Harry Potter, you are under arrest."

– _What?_

"You are to be detained while awaiting trial, which, due to the high profile of the case, will be held later this evening."

"This is absurd!" Mr. Weasley was angrily protesting.

"What in Merlin's name could you possibly be arresting him for?" demanded Lupin.

"Treason."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione cried desperately.

Harry felt numb.

"You are all called as witnesses for today's trial. Here are the details. Good day."

The Aurors took his wand. There was nothing he could do– he couldn't very well attack them, could he? They grabbed him roughly by the arms, and Harry became momentarily embarrassed that he was still in his pajamas.

How had they managed to get through the Fidelious Charm? Where did Fudge get off, accusing him of treason?

Harry heard Mr. Weasley's voice over the din, "–have to get Dumbledore."

Fudge barked out a laugh. "Yes, please do. I'd like to see how the old man tries to worm his favorite student out of this one. By all means, fetch him at once."

Harry tried to look over his shoulder behind him as he was manhandled out the door, but he was distracted by Fudge's next words.

"You will await your trial in a secure area of the Ministry, Potter. The dementors will guard you until that time."

Harry's blood ran cold.

As the door shut behind them, Harry could have sworn that he saw the livid, terrified face of Sirius appearing from nowhere, but he sincerely hoped that he was imagining things, because that would have been stupid, and reckless, and just the type of thing that Sirius would do.

As Harry was enveloped by the sensation of being squeezed through a very small tube, he wondered if his next home would be Azkaban.

A/N: Here's a new one for you! I think I'm going to take The Life of Harry Potter Open for Everyone down, because I just can't make myself satisfied with it. This isn't a replacement, but many of the things that were going to be addressed in that story will be in this one instead. Please review, and let me know what you think of this new idea.


	2. At What Cost

"Sirius– Sirius _stop_!" Lupin was wrestling with Sirius who was desperately fighting to get to the door.

"Get _off_ me, Remus!" Sirius growled like a feral animal.

The grapple was short. It ended the moment there were several pops from outside while the chill from the dementors disappeared. Sirius slumped in Lupin's hold, the fight draining out of him when he realized that Harry was already gone, whisked off to the Ministry to await trial.

"I don't understand," said Hermione in a mortified whisper, "How did they get in? They shouldn't have been able to. Not without–"

"Not without someone on the inside," said Lupin softly.

"But," began Hermione, "Dumbledore would _never–_ "

"It wasn't Dumbledore," Sirius growled, fury sparking in his eyes.

"But he's the Secret Keeper," Hermione said in disbelief, shaken to the core. "He is the only one who _could_ have–"

"That idiot. I'll wring his bloody neck," said Sirius, storming to a chair and kicking it.

"What are you going on about?" asked Ron, desperate for some answers as to why his best friend was in the custody of dementors.

"Mundungus," snarled Sirius. "I'll bet you anything the idiot never burned his paper."

Ron thought suddenly of the paper that he had been shown upon arriving to Grimmauld Place– inscribed with a loopy handwriting he had not recognized– written by Dumbledore himself. His father had burned it the moment his family had read it.

"If his stupidity just caused Harry to lose everything, I will wring the bastard's neck!"

"Sirius," Lupin admonished.

"Serves the Potter boy right. The one to bring about the fall of the Dark Lord. Kreacher knew it was only a matter of time before he got what was coming to him, but nobody asks poor Kreacher what he–"

"Oi!" cried Fred.

"What's Harry ever done to you?" asked George in anger.

"Not another word, Kreacher!" called Sirius, venom in his voice, "I won't have you talking about my godson like that, you lousy excuse for a servant!"

Mr. Weasley returned from the kitchen where he'd gone to contact Dumbledore and inform him of the situation. "Dumbledore is on his way. I've called the Order as well. Hopefully we can get some answers."

The fire roared to life, and out walked a disgruntled Tonks. "I'm here!" she announced, flustered, "Kingsley can't make it. He's wrapped up at the Ministry with Fudge. I've only just heard– What did they charge Harry with?"

"Treason," growled Sirius.

Tonks stared, "Where did Fudge get grounds for that?"

"We don't know," said Arthur slowly.

"How did they get in, anyway?" asked Tonks.

There was another roar from the fire, and Dumbledore stepped out, looking worn and stressed. The next blaze carried an expressionless, if not slightly irritated looking, Severus Snape. Then McGonagall stepped through, her hair frazzled, as if she'd just hastily put it up. The next roar of the fire brought with it two people, and both Sirius' and Lupin's bodies tensed. Mad Eye Moody limped through with an iron grip on Mundungus' shirt by the back of the neck.

"Please, I didn' even know, all right? I swear I didn'–"

"Stop sniveling, you coward," grunted Moody.

"Mundungus?" Tonks asked.

"Dumbledore," pleaded Mrs. Weasley, "What is going on?"

"It seems," said Dumbledore wearily, "That Miss Edgecombe feared for her mother's position at the Ministry. She went to Umbridge and told her of some incriminating activities Harry may have performed this year."

"What?" George cried angrily.

"That snitch," growled Fred.

"What incriminating activities?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "What is Dumbledore talking about? Ronald?"

Ron swallowed and looked to Sirius.

"You know how Dung reported back to the Order about Harry's defense group after overhearing them in the Hog's Head," said Sirius after hesitating.

"I knew it," said Molly in a low voice. "I knew that was a bad idea. Harry should never have gone through with it after Umbridge banned unapproved organizations with her decree–"

"It's not Harry's fault, Mum," said Ron quickly, "I convinced him to do it."

"Enough of that, Ronald," said Hermione, "It was my idea, Mrs. Weasley. With V-Voldemort back," Hermione ignored Mrs. Weasley's flinch, "We really had no choice but to take things into our own hands. We had nobody more qualified."

Mrs. Weasley looked ready to burst when–

"Good on him," grunted Moody.

Molly rounded on him. "Excuse me? Harry has been arrested! He is being accused of _treason–_ "

"And he may have saved a few lives in the process," said Moody impatiently. "The boy is fighting. Give him some credit."

"That's not the point!" yelled Molly.

"There is no point here," interjected Snape. "It is done and over with. That what Potter did was incredibly stupid is irrelevant. We must view this from our current standing or we will get nowhere."

"None of this changes the fact that they were able to break through the Fidelious Charm," said Tonks.

"Nobody broke through anything," said Snape snidely.

"Mundungus never burned the address," said Moody, shoving Mundungus forward.

Dung stumbled before straightening his clothes. "It was a tiny bloody piece of paper, wasn't it," he said, trying to appeal, "I couldn't keep track of the thing."

"How did the Ministry get their hands on it?" asked Arthur.

"Let's just be glad it was the Ministry," said Ron, who was glaring at Dung, an intense fury pulsing through his tense hands. "And not Death Eaters."

"It was in my coat," said Dung, "And when some Ministry bloke tried to arrest me at Diagon Alley for selling my cauldrons without a permit, well, they searched me, didn't they. I had no idea that little paper was still in there."

"Are you saying," said Sirius in a low voice, "That Harry's safety, along with the Order's, was put in jeopardy for your bloody cauldrons?"

"Look, Sirius, I'm sorry," said Dung, "And I'm sorry that Harry got dragged into this–"

"If Harry gets sent to Azkaban," hissed Sirius, eyes wild with madness–

"Harry won't survive Azkaban," whispered Lupin.

"What?" choked Molly.

"The kid has the worst reaction to dementors I've ever seen," explained Lupin. "I worry what just one morning in their company will do to him. They affect him... more than they do other people. He used to faint in the presence of a _boggart_ dementor. Azkaban would tear him apart. We cannot let it come to that."

"Harry's not going to Azkaban," blurted Ron. "There's no way Fudge can get away with this."

"I believe," said Dumbledore quietly, "That we can prevent Harry's going to Azkaban, Mr. Weasley, though you may not like my methods."

Minerva's eyes sharpened, "What do you mean by that, Albus?" she asked.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "At Harry's trial at the beginning of this year, Fudge repeatedly brought up past events in his attempts to pin them on Harry on top of the underage magic."

"And thank heavens you didn't let him," said McGonagall curtly, like she knew where this was going.

"I do not intend to stop him this time."

Sirius swore violently and Ron's jaw dropped.

"Professor," said Hermione breathlessly, "How could that possibly work in Harry's favor?"

"It is a high profile case, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, "This could be a chance to set everything straight. If Fudge delves deep enough, he will eventually find truths that he does not like."

"At what cost?" asked McGonagall, sounding as though she completely disapproved. "Have you thought about the emotional toll that may take on Potter? He is alone with dementors, and scared. You can't expect us to agree to put him through this, without him even knowing–"

"Potter's _emotional state_ will be fine," sneered Snape. "I am sure that his fragile little mind can survive."

"Severus, you know as well as I how rough the Ministry can get with interrogation–"

"Interrogation?" cried Ron. "He's not a bloody criminal!"

"That is how the court will be viewing him, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall, returning her gaze to Dumbledore. "If Dumbledore does not enforce the parameters of the case, Fudge won't hesitate to delve much further than is appropriate with an underage wizard. He will turn it into a full, criminal interrogation."

"I will not have Harry put through that," said Sirius threateningly. "Just get him out of this, Dumbledore. I don't care if the rest of the world knows about Voldemort. Convince Fudge and the jury that he's innocent and end it."

"I do not believe that convincing them is possible," admitted Dumbledore. "The only way to shred doubt on their own beliefs is to have them ravage for the answers themselves."

"But that's barbaric," objected Ginny.

"Indeed," muttered Dumbledore.

Sirius let out a long breath. "This is going to hurt Harry. You know that."

Dumbledore's eyes looked sad. "I do."

Sirius locked eyes with the older man for a minute, searching for something. After a while, he found it, because he slumped, and nodded. "Do what you have to do. Just keep him out of Azkaban."

"Then it appears," said Dumbledore, "That we have a trial to prepare for. We are all called as witnesses. I believe that we must be equipped for whatever may be thrown Harry's way."

Sirius looked at the ground in defeat.

Lupin put a scarred hand on his friends slumped shoulder. "Harry will come out on top of all this, Sirius. He's been through worse."

"Exactly," sighed Sirius, not mentioning the thought on the forefront of his mind: he hadn't been called as a witness. How could he have been? And now, when Harry needed his support most, there was no way Sirius would even make it into the Ministry, let alone the court rooms.

A/N: Review! Let me know if you are liking the idea!


	3. Nightmares of the Past

The room the Aurors guided him to was small and bare, furnished only with a lamp in the corner. It really wouldn't have been all that bad if it weren't for the three dementors hovering just outside of the locked door.

It was cold. Harry could see his breath in puffs of white in front of him. There were voices in the back of his head, getting louder– " _Bow to death, Harry_ "– Harry scrambled backwards, his breathing shallow. He pressed his back against the far wall, strategically placing himself as far away from the door as he could. His arms and legs felt weak, and he could feel himself shaking. " _Kill the spare!_ " Harry's thin pajamas did nothing against the permeating cold that infiltrated every cell of his body. He hugged his arms around himself and slid his back down the wall to sit on the hard floor. His mother's scream echoed in his mind.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. His right hand twitched, as if confused as to why there was no wand in his hand to fight back. It knew the movements– muscle memory had his hand clenching and unclenching, not understanding the absence.

" _I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry. Take your time, I'm in no hurry._ " Harry's breathing hitched. It had been a long time since he had thought of that night, in the chamber with Tom Riddle. Basilisk venom coursing through his veins...

 _An image of Ron, after Harry's name had come out of the Goblet, sneering, "You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you'll need to be up early for a photo-call or something." An image of Ron getting struck down in a giant game of chess. Hermione, petrified. Ginny, unconscious in the Chamber. Harry himself, repeatedly striking Mr. Weasley with his fangs. Cedric, falling, lifeless–_

Harry gasped and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He clenched his fists. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. It was far from a patronus, but perhaps they would keep him sane. He tried to think of something happy– of Sirius offering for Harry to come and live with him–

 _And there was Sirius, a dementor descending upon him for a kiss_ –

Harry clenched his hair in his fist.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry muttered, but without a wand, it was pointless. It brought no warmth. No salvation. Just more of the same coldness. Despair. Hopelessness–

Harry had worried about what would happen after the trial. Now he worried if he would even last until then. There was no sense of time in that little room. It could have been ten minutes, and he was already unraveling. Then again, it could have been ten hours. The voices in his head only grew louder.

Harry felt his stomach roll. He clenched his eyes shut. He had to keep himself cognizant and in the right frame of mind for the trial. He needed to be able to think. But it was impossible to think past the screaming in his head.

 _Harry was staring at his expulsion letter from Hogwarts–_

No, he was at the Ministry, guarded by dementors–

 _He was staring at Voldemort's face for the first time, on the back of Quirrell's head–_

He was being put on trial for treason–

 _"Crucio!"–_

Harry stood abruptly. He shook out his arms. He breathed warm air onto his hands. He glanced around the room.

" _I would not know. I have never died."_

"Expecto patronum," Harry muttered again. He knew that simply saying the words would not help. It was irrational to keep doing so, but it brought him a small sort of comfort in that cold, empty room.

"Expecto patronum."

Harry moved to the corner and sat down. "Expecto patronum," he whispered.

Time passed.

Harry wished he had some chocolate.

The room was just the right size so that he was far enough away from the dementors influence that it did not render him unconscious.

Just miserable.

And oh so very cold.

Harry shivered.

He wondered what time it was.

He wondered if he would have to endure the trial with the added embarrassment of still being only clad in pajamas.

He wouldn't put it past Fudge.

Would Umbridge be there?

As if she would miss it.

" _Blood from the enemy, forcibly taken–"_

Treason. _Treason_. Treason?

Harry was still stumped with that one.

What were they arresting him for?

How had they gotten into Grimmauld Place?

Surely Dumbledore hadn't...

Azkaban.

Harry wondered where it was.

How far away it was.

For some reason, Harry's mind drifted back to that old shack on an island his Uncle Vernon had taken them to in an attempt to keep Harry from going to Hogwarts.

That was basically a version of Azkaban.

His relatives were more or less dementors.

He'd survived years at Number Four. He could survive this.

 _"Step aside, you silly girl–"_

"Expecto Patronum."

Treason.

Sirius?

Did underage wizards even get thrown in Azkaban? Or was there some sort of wizard juvy? Hermione would know.

High profile case. Would this be in the Prophet? Merlin, he hoped not.

What would the trial be like?

Would it be similar to his hearing?

Would they ask him some questions, get put in their place by Dumbledore, and he'd be free?

But no... there were witnesses being called. More than just Arabella Figg.

 _"Cruci–"_

Expecto Patronum.

 _"Crucio!"_

Harry put his head in his hands.

He wondered what time it was.

The door opened.

There was the light of a patronus, and warmth seeped into the room. Harry looked up hopefully, but the silhouette of a man just set down a small bundle near the door before retreating, shutting the door behind him, and taking the glorious patronus with him.

The warmth was sucked out of the room.

Harry looked at the floor.

It was a small pile of clothes.

It looked like he wouldn't have the added embarrassment of being displayed in front of the entire Wizengamot in his pajamas.

Harry stood and moved toward the bundle–

 _"Take Harry and go! It's him! I'll hold him off!"_

There was no way Harry was getting anywhere near that door.

Harry tried to move closer, but found himself suddenly on his knees, tipping sideways.

"Expecto– Expecto Pa–"

He felt the impact with the ground, and then there was nothing but a roaring waterfall in his ears and screams echoing in his head.

And he was still in his pajamas.

A/N: Review, please.


	4. Preparation

"I can't believe you convinced me to go along with this," Arthur Weasley sighed, slowly making his way through the Ministry.

Sirius Black walked tall and proud next to him– polyjuiced, of course– looking like a young, inexperienced healer having just achieved his NEWTs. Naturally, Sirius had refused to be left behind. He had needed a convincing cover– one where he would be allowed to attend the trial without being an actual witness– they had settled on Sirius being a healer from St. Mungos that was to accompany Mr. Weasley at all times until the danger of relapse from the attack had passed.

The two men were, at the moment, making their way to meet with Harry before the actual trial. Harry could have one visitor before it began. Of course, if the visitor was in need of a medical escort, what could the Ministry say about that?

Well, they could say no, Sirius supposed, but they didn't, for which he was extremely grateful.

All of the witnesses, judges, and jury had already been summoned to the court room. Arthur and Sirius would be escorting Harry there once they retrieved him from holding.

They arrived at the room the security desk had told them to go to, outside of which was posted a young looking Auror.

Arthur thought the lack of dementors strange.

"You're Mr. Weasley," the Auror stated, "He's nearly finished getting dressed. You'll have ten minutes, then I'll escort the three of you to the court room."

Arthur nodded. They waited in silence for a moment before there was a soft knock from the other side of the door.

The Auror stepped aside. "You may enter. Be quick."

Arthur and Sirius entered the room.

Harry was pale. His hands were struggling to refasten a single button that had come undone on his long-sleeved black shirt, but they were shaking too much to be successful. At the sound of the door opening, Harry gave up on the top button and looked up.

Arthur quickly shut the door behind them.

Sirius hurried forward, but Harry hastily took an unsteady step back, eyes wide.

Sirius stopped.

"Harry," Arthur greeted gravely, "You look..."

"I know I look awful," Harry said hoarsely. His eyes wandered to Sirius' face. "Sorry... I don't believe we've met."

Arthur sent a cautious look at the door before glancing back at Harry. "This is my personal physician, Harry. He is overseeing my recovery. Mr. Paddington."

Harry's gaze sharpened, and Arthur knew that he'd gotten the message.

"Why is he here?" Harry asked, a hint of worried accusation in his tone. "I thought... I thought you were declared healthy."

"I was," said Arthur, "But Mr. Paddington insisted."

"You could have said no," argued Harry.

"The healer knows what is best for their patient," Sirius added in an irate voice. "If the healer wants to accompany that patient on what will surely be a long, stressful day, then he will."

Harry swallowed and looked down.

"Harry," said Arthur, stepping forward and doing up the last button that had caused the boy so much trouble, "You are looking ill. Are you feeling all right?"

Harry sighed. "I'll be fine, Mr. Weasley. They only just led the dementors away."

Sirius frowned. "Did you get any sleep?"

Harry just looked at him, and Sirius understood.

"Unconscious doesn't count as sleep, Harry," said Sirius quietly.

"While your concern for Mr. Potter is all well and good," said Mr. Weasley, reminding the two of them that Sirius was, in fact, Mr. Paddington at the moment, a man who had no emotional ties to this fifteen-year-old boy in front of them, "We need to utilize this time to debrief him."

Harry's eyes widened. "The Fidelious! What happened–"

"A note with the address was discovered in Mundungus Fletcher's pocket."

Sirius wasn't sure what he felt about how Arthur managed to say that sentence without any inflection of fury or blame.

"Now, Harry," continued Arthur urgently, "This trial is going to be a little bit different than the one you had earlier this year."

Harry sighed, "I know. Treason is a bit of a step up from underage magic, isn't it? Speaking of–"

"The Ministry found out about your defense group," explained Arthur without Harry even having to ask. "Fudge has it in his head that you were training students to revolt against the Ministry."

"That's mad," cried Harry.

"One of your students went to Umbridge," Arthur continued. "They don't know much, but they do know that the group was named Dumbledore's _Army_ and that you, Harry, were the leader. They put two and two together and got five."

Harry felt the blow deliver directly to his gut, almost as if it were physical. Who had outed them? Harry had trusted the members of the D.A. He had put so much on the line in order to _teach_ them–

"Who was it?" Harry asked softly.

"I believe her name was Miss. Edgecombe."

Harry started. The face of Cho's friend flashed briefly in his mind.

"Listen, Harry," said Arthur, "We don't have much time. I'm sorry, but this is all the warning we could give you."

Harry immediately grew cautious. "Warning?"

"It's going to get rough out there," admitted Arthur. "Much worse than last time."

Immediately an image of Barty Crouch Jr. being restrained to his chair arose in his mind. A harsh sense of fear enveloped him.

"Will..." Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, "Will Dumbledore be there?"

"Yes," said Arthur, and some of the fear abated. Dumbledore would not let Harry get chained to a chair. "But you need to be prepared, Harry."

"For what?" Harry asked.

"Criminal trials are–"

" _Merlin_ ," gasped Harry, "I'm not a–"

"We know you're not," comforted Arthur, "And the Ministry will too. You'll come out the other side of this, Harry. Dumbledore will be speaking for you, as will your friends."

Harry's stomach dropped, "Ron and Hermione are going to be there?" He did not want them there. He did not want them to see him, there, in that room... in that chair... scared... having accusations thrown at him while he could hardly defend himself.

"Yes," said Arthur. "As will others... along with myself, and Mr. Paddington, of course."

And for the first time, overwhelming relief washed over Harry. Sirius would be there. _Sirius_ would be there. Harry locked eyes with the unfamiliar cobalt ones in front of him and searched for the man that he knew behind them. When there was a flash of recognition– a glimpse of that devotion and charm– Harry had to fight the urge to let the man hug him.

Harry cursed himself for the sudden wetness in his eyes. His morning with the dementors really had made him sentimental. He hastily turned away and discreetly wiped at them, but he suspected that Arthur nor Sirius fell for the disguise. He was grateful when neither made comment.

"When does it start?" Harry asked with a shaky breath.

The door opened before Arthur could answer.

"Time is up. Harry Potter, you are called to a criminal trial regarding the charge of treason which has been placed upon you. You will follow me."

Harry swallowed.

With Mr. Weasley and Sirius at his back, Harry walked forward.

A/N: Review please!


	5. Addressing the Charges

The doors opened and Harry jerked to a stop. The courtroom was bigger than the one he'd been in before, and a good majority of the occupants were intimidating looking witches and wizards in those same plum colored robes with a W emblazoned on the chest. The Wizengamot appeared not to have changed. Harry recognized a few faces. He was comforted when he found Madam Bones' firmly jawed face to his left, but the sour face of Fudge, the sweet face of Umbridge, and the smug face of Lucius Malfoy squandered any positive feelings he'd been having.

Harry knew for a fact that Malfoy was not on the Wizengamot. He was seated closer to the ground than the plum outfitted members who sat behind Fudge. Harry wondered what Lucius Malfoy had said to convince Fudge to let him inside. Harry dreaded to think that the man may have been called as a witness.

A hand rested softly on his shoulder. "Keep moving, Harry," said the soft voice of Arthur Weasley in his ear.

Harry took a hesitant step forward, his eyes searching the crowd.

Harry's heart jumped when he looked to his right. In the front of the stands sat Molly Weasley, Remus Lupin, Professor McGonagall Ginny, Fred, George, Tonks, Mad Eye Moody, and Ron and Hermione.

Harry wasn't expecting the feeling of warmth that rose up in him when he saw his friends.

But then the hand on his shoulder vanished as Arthur and Sirius were led away by the Auror to join the others.

Harry swallowed dryly and looked at the chair. The chair, again, had the chains he had seen come to life in Dumbledore's penseive. He eyed them warily.

"You are familiar with the proceedings, Mr. Potter," said Fudge, his voice cracking the silence like a whip, "One would think that I shouldn't have to tell you to sit down, yet here we are."

Harry clenched his teeth, annoyed, but did as he was told. The chains on the chair did not move. Harry let out a silent breath of relief.

"Very well," said Fudge, "I believe it is time we get started. Mr. Weasley?"

Harry's heart gave a painful stab; he had forgotten Percy would be there. Harry wondered how Mrs. Weasley was managing.

"Ready, Sir," Percy's voice answered promptly.

It was so eerily similar to the last time Harry had been on trial that Harry had to consciously remind himself that, yes, this was actually happening again.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twenty-sixth of December into offences committed under the Decree for International Security by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." Fudge's voice was crisp and eager, and Harry fidgeted in his chair. "Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley. Witnesses will be called forth as the trial progresses. Main witness for defense is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry turned in his chair and searched for Dumbledore, whose white beard was nowhere in sight.

"It appears that Dumbledore will not be attending–" Harry's heart dropped, but then the doors behind him opened and Dumbledore strode in.

"It appears that your methods of communication are lacking, Minister," said Dumbledore calmly, as though he were simply out for a stroll and had happened upon them all there by a happy mistake, "As this is the second time that I was not notified of the Wizengamot's change of schedule."

Harry started. The trial's schedule had changed? Harry hadn't known. They hadn't told him anything.

"However," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "I am pleased to say that, despite this negligence on your part, I have arrived relatively on time."

"This was no negligence of mine," said Fudge, who was looking a tad bit disconcerted, "It is not the Wizengamot's fault that you were not properly informed. We sent word of the changes accordingly. That you did not receive them lies no blame on us."

It was all so déjà vu to Harry. Fudge was playing his dirty tricks again. Not only that, but they were the _same_ dirty tricks, as though he hoped that he could catch them the second time around.

"Let us cease wasting time and proceed with the trial," said Fudge impatiently as Percy scribbled everything down furiously.

"Please," said Dumbledore, standing to Harry's right.

"Harry James Potter," Fudge called, "You have been charged of treason against the Ministry of Magic for the founding of a group called Dumbledore's Army in which you educated and instructed fellow witches and wizards in the arts of magical combat and charms with the intent of overrunning the Ministry. You have been lying to the public about a certain man's return from the dead to issue a state of panic for the sole purpose of wreaking havoc among the Ministry in order to ease your coup.

"You are Harry James Potter, yes?"

"Yes," said Harry, a little breathless.

"And how do you plead?" asked Fudge.

"Not guilty," said Harry desperately, already knowing how it must look. He hadn't been planning to overthrow the government– but he had created an illegal defense group– and he wasn't spreading rumors to take over the Ministry– but he was trying to speak the truth, which just so happened to be received as a lie.

The situation was full of too many half truths. Because while they weren't correct, they weren't so terribly far off the mark. They had enough accurate facts and evidence to make the absurd plausible.

"You did not create the group called Dumbledore's Army?" Fudge asked.

"No, I mean yes, I did, but–"

"And did you not instruct those who attended on how to fight?"

"Well, yes, I did, but–"

"And what reasoning would you place behind your actions then?" asked Fudge

Harry swallowed. Fudge had backed him into a corner.

"Mr. Potter?" he prompted.

"I wanted my friends to know how to protect themselves in a fight," said Harry darkly, clenching his hands into fists. "Merlin knows they'll never learn anything with a certain defense professor in place."

Harry saw Umbridge twitch in his peripheral vision.

"And what, pray tell," said Fudge, "Would they need protecting from?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know what, Minister."

"If you would speak it allowed, please, for the benefit of the court."

Harry sat up straight and stared with a heavy gaze. Harry saw a few of the Wizengamot retreat in their seats, leaning back and looking uncomfortable. "Voldemort."

There were gasps and hushed murmers.

"Death Eaters," continued Harry.

Harry's eyes locked with Lucius Malfoy's for half of a second, and Harry forced himself to look away.

"You may not believe it, Minister," said Harry, "But I do. And I will not sit idly by and watch as you all plead ignorance to a fight that has already started. I just hope that I've taught my friends enough so as to keep them from getting killed."

Fudge stared, and Harry waited.

And then Fudge laughed. "A heartwarming story, Mr. Potter. That you believe yourself better qualified to teach fellow students than an experienced Ministry employee says quite a great deal about your state of mind, I think, even if the reason you were teaching was fabricated. Do you really think yourself so above your peers that you felt the need to instruct them? How demeaning for them, to be taught by a lesser wizard. I've read about your arrogance in the prophet, Potter, but this really takes things to the next level."

"I don't think myself better than them," Harry immediately argued, wondering why Dumbledore hadn't stepped in yet, defended him.

"Don't you?" asked Fudge. "Why you, then, and not an older, more qualified wizard? Why not take your concerns to a teacher, if not because your actions were illegal?"

"Because Umbridge has turned Hogwarts into a regimented dictatorship," snapped Harry before he could help himself.

"Ahem."

Harry looked down. He took a deep breath. He could not afford to lose his control like that.

"Excuse me, Minister, but I couldn't help but interject as it sounds as if– please, correct me if I heard wrong– but it sounds as if Mr. Potter is using me as justification for his actions."

"No, indeed, that sounds to be exactly what he was implying," agreed Fudge.

"No."

Harry looked up, hopeful.

"No, that is not what he was implying at all," said the sharp voice of Madam Bones. "What he was implying, Madam Umbridge, is that, given the circumstances, he was left with no other option but to act discreetly."

Harry felt a surge of affection for the woman. She, at least, looked as though she thoroughly believed that this entire trial was ludicrous.

"His intent is not the issue," said Fudge, annoyed, "What matters is that Potter went about it illegally–"

"Intent is very much the issue," argued Madam Bones. "If Potter is sincere in his claim that his intent was only to protect his friends, then the crime of creating Dumbledore's Army falls under the jurisdiction of the school, and his punishment, therefore, by Albus Dumbledore."

"I think you'll find, Madam Bones," interjected Umbridge in her tart voice, "That punishment at Hogwarts falls to the High Inquisitor, which is a title that I hold dear."

"Fine, then," said Bones, "Give him detention! But he shouldn't be here, on trial, for treason!"

There were murmurs among the Wizengamot at this.

Fudge looked panicked. "Calling the first witness!" he cried. "Miss Marietta Edgecombe."

A man stood and whispered in Fudge's ear. Fudge turned purple.

"It appears as though Miss Edgecombe is refusing to speak," blustered Fudge.

Harry would bet anything that it had to do with Hermione's hex. Way to go Hermione.

"No matter, no matter," said Fudge, "We have the transcript of her testament as evidence. Miss Edgecombe claimed that Mr. Potter gathered students together on multiple occasions to teach them curses and defensive spells that are respective to dueling. The title of the group itself was deemed Dumbledore's _Army_. Care to explain the reasoning behind that, Mr. Potter?"

"It is at this point that I would like to call a witness, Minister" said Dumbledore suddenly and Harry jumped, having forgotten the man's presence in his extended silence.

Fudge let out a bit of a huff, "Is it relevant to the topic, Dumbledore, or are you just trying to evade the question?"

"It is very much relevant," said Dumbledore gravely.

"Oh, very well," conceded Fudge. "Who will you be calling?"

"Ginnevra Weasley, daughter of Molly and Arthur Weasley, resident of the Burrow."


End file.
